


The Final Draft

by AlienAgenda



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort/Angst, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Heavy Angst, M/M, Minor Alexander Hamilton/Maria Reynolds, Minor Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette/Hercules Mulligan, Multi, Past Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Past Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, basically a lot of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 09:09:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13384641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlienAgenda/pseuds/AlienAgenda
Summary: Alexander Hamilton, in his life, has had more soulmates than anyone else around him. One after another, he lost them. Could Thomas Jefferson, a man he hated before and a man equally as damaged as himself, be the soulmate that he could keep?***"I wasn't going to jump.""I know, Alex""Good."The silence lasted a long time after that, and soon Alexander began to cry. It was dark so Jefferson shouldn't have been able to see it, and Hamilton wasn't making a noise. Somehow, Thomas knew.





	The Final Draft

**Author's Note:**

> To anyone he even clicked on this, Thank you!!!
> 
> I'm sure you're probably a little confused about the talk of losing soulmates. Basically, this works like a regular soulmate AU, except physically or emotionally losing the person causes the bond between the two people to break, and a new one to form.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for any comments or kudos <3 it'd be really appreciated, and give me so much motivation to write this.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!!

John's funeral had been hours ago and alive with weeping friends and family; as Alexander sat in the pews of the dead church, he was still sat in a comatose of disbelief. Beautiful, lively, opinionated John, with all his chatter and charm, wouldn't allow himself to become another candle snuffed out on an altar. John couldn't be another name crossed off Alex's list- another loved one lost to time and terrible circumstance.

Lafayette and Hercules sat beside him in the bellowing quiet, unsure what to say, or whether to say anything at all. When one loses a soulmate, how are empty words of comfort supposed to help? Neither one of them could empathise. Hands clasped together on the wooden pew, there was an impregnable, unbreakable bond, almost as strongly withstanding as the silence they were shrouded in. They couldn't imagine a world without each other. They wouldn't want to. It was a special kind of torture for a soulmate to die, as Alex was learning.

His cheeks were wet with tears he hadn't realised had been falling only moments ago, so he reached up and wiped them away with the cuff of his black sleeve. His hair had been neatly restrained by his dear French friend before the funeral, but sometime into his silent weeping, wispy strands of hair had escaped, hanging in front of his eyes. If John were here, he'd have tucked that hair behind his ear with an easy smile and uttered the words he needed to hear, whatever the situation may be. Alexander Hamilton didn't look like he hadn't slept in days, as he usually did: he looked as if he hadn't slept in years.

"He wanted to marry me in this church. He was my everything and yet I didn't pay him enough attention. I didn't say I love him enough. I loved him. I wanted- so much more than this..." Hamilton's voice broke at the end, and Lafayette looked on desperately, wanting to bring peace to his friend's mind but unable to. Lafayette felt Hercules' hand tighten momentarily around his own in a vain attempt to bring confidence to the both of them. They had to be strong. They had to be strong for Alex. The candle of his hope and that determined spark was growing smaller by the day.

Hercules hesitated a long moment before settling a kind hand on Alexander's shoulder. Dragging his tear-soaked face from his arm, Alexander turned his head to look up to his dear friend. Speaking with that deep voice of his, Herc slowly soothed Alex, "I know Hammy, I know. It's time to go. We can't stay here much longer."

Alexander paused for a moment longer; for a time, Lafayette and Herc thought he wouldn't reply. Eyes hesitantly regarding Herc, he nodded his head in a quiet agreement. Instead of sinking into an ocean of emotions over the loss of John, Alex stood and shrugged his coat over his shoulders, "You're right. Instead of going home, why don't we go get a drink? For old times sake." This wasn't for old times sake. Alexander desperately needed a distraction and a social drink would be just that- a distraction. He couldn't outrun emotion but he could damn well try to.

Lafayette stepped forwards and gave a reassuring smile, "I think we could all use a drink tonight." He allowed Hercules' hand to slip from his, not wanting to reignite any kind of loneliness in his little lion. In the past weeks, Alex had recovered enough to venture to the bookstores and coffee shops he loved so much. Still, he needed the support tonight.

Lafayette's arm slung over his shoulder, Alex gave one last wistful glance back to the lines of pews and the altar where he would've married John in a perfect world. The mourning man turned away and walked with his friends, with a small goal to focus on and with doubt whispering words in his ear, like some demonic serpent.

* * *

Alexander knew his own charm better than any other. A dark look, a lopsided grin and a quirk of his eyebrow and Hamilton could have anyone he wanted. On this particular evening, a man could be a reminder rather than the distraction that Alex so desperately craved. As the trio entered the bar, Alexander set his sights upon a curvaceous woman in a small stretch of red fabric around her midsection and what looked to be an entire tube of crimson lipstick coating her lips neatly. She had nothing in common with John Laurens: if he so much as touched her face, he feared it might smear; she had none of the boyish rebellious charms that had made Laurens all the more compelling; she harboured no love for Alex. She didn't have to. Alex didn't want her to.

Somehow, Hamilton managed to convince his friends to find a seat whilst he went to buy drinks. Sliding into the bar stool next to the painted lady, Alexander observed the few names written on her wrist. Her soulmates. The names that would be forever engraved onto her skin, but the person who it belonged to would be unobtainable. The thought of John made a pincushion out of his heart in an instant. He tugged at his own sleeve, ensuring the names on his own list would be hidden from view.

He killed the emotion quickly and searched his mind for a reliable pick up line. He didn't find one.

"Fuck me if I'm wrong, but dinosaurs still exist, right?"

The woman looked stunned for a moment, before she twisted those pretty ruby lips into a smile and then laughed politely, "Cute. Can I get you a drink?"

"That was my line, but I won't say no to alcohol."

Alexander clung to the sensual, affectionate woman for the rest of the night, abandoning his friends almost immediately. Lafayette eventually came to the bar to get drinks for him and Herc, fixing Hamilton with a disapproving and pleading look. Come back with me, it begged. Five minutes later and Alex had left the small bar at the suggestion of the woman. Maria, her name was.

She had placed a hand on his lower back as they walked out of the bar, easily reading the situation. Hamilton was emotionally weak, and powerless to each of her advances. The dynamic between them was one which Hamilton had never experienced with a woman. She seemed to guide, controlling and powerful, whereas the usually bold Alexander had softened, enamoured and desperate. Out of character.

The quiet in Maria's car was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable; it didn't last long, as they soon arrived at Maria's apartment. She'd grabbed him in the elevator up to her floor, and pressed a kiss to his lips, imprinting her own wine-red ones onto his with barely a trace of gentleness. Perfect. The next few minutes were a blur of slamming doors, scarlet lips, a warm hand between his thighs. He remembered being on his knees for the woman, with his tongue pressed inside her and curls of ebony hair against his cheek.

Those many drinks must have caught up with him: he remembered nothing else from that evening with Maria Reynolds.

* * *

In the first few hours of the next day, his emotions must have caught up with him. Laying in Maria's bed, he was nothing short of disgusted with himself. There were so many factors that made his decisions last night bad ones. He'd abandoned his friends. He'd slept with a stranger immediately after John's funeral in hopes of coping somehow with his absence. In hopes of forgetting he was gone.

The moonlight danced through the crack between the curtains, directing a beam of light across his sticky stomach. Coated with a layer of come and his own release in the bed of a woman he barely remembered the name of. He was a debased man. He turned his head to see Maria. Curled up and facing away from the window, he could hear her steady breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

Quietly as he could, Alexander climbed out of the bed, careful not to pull the sheets or create too sudden a movement. Padding barefooted around the room, he gathered his clothes with as much dignity as he could muster, pulled them on and left. A black formal suit seemed too much for a man wandering around at night, so he ditched the jacket and tie somewhere along the line. They weren't too expensive anyway. He hoped Lafayette wouldn't mind.

He quietly closed the door to Maria's apartment, covered in filth and in attire that didn't suit the chilling weather. The elevator ride back downstairs was less electric than last time, for obvious reasons. Last time, he had a pretty distraction.

Stepping out through the squeaky front doors of the apartment complex, Alex's hair whipped his cheeks like a flogger. Alex briefly wandered if pain might be a better distraction than pleasure. He looked down the almost deserted streets (save for a few drunkards and rough sleepers), and decided it would probably be better to take main roads than shortcuts at this time in the morning.

Shivering in the wrathful breeze, Alexander started down the path to a place he knew well. A right at Rochambeau hotel; left and through the gate near the old willow tree in the park and follow the winding footpath to the bridge where so many painfully treasured memories were made.

His and John's first date. Their first kiss. Their first argument. Their first reconciliation. So many firsts. He'd never have another first with John Laurens, and his gorgeous freckles and those lively curls.

He thought back to the funeral as he leant on the railing. John laid slumbering eternally in a cramped, uncomfortable little box, smothered in lilies and hyacinths and various other flowers that had been carefully arranged atop his wounds. His heart broke a little more at the memory.

John's father had attended, despite the doubt that he would. Stoic faced and blank at his lover's corpse, Alexander had been on the receiving end of a few deadly glares. Either Senator Laurens hated him for not being able to stop his son's death, or he hated him for 'corrupting' his son with his sexuality. If it had been any other time, at any other place, Alexander would've gladly acquainted Henry Laurens with his vicious words.

Also, he could barely form a coherent sentence at that time through tears. But, to anyone else, Alexander would never admit that.

Almost subconsciously, Hamilton reached for his left sleeve, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up the black fabric. The first few names came into view at his wrist. Name's he'd never forget, but the memories of the person were blurry and confused. He could barely remember their faces. This pattern of painfully sweet memories and tired memories continued up to his elbow. On his forearm, he could make out recent names.

Angelica Schuyler.

Eliza Schuyler.

John Laurens.

Thomas Jefferson.

Wait, Thomas Jefferson?!

"Oh, fuck me," he cursed.

"I'll have to politely decline, Hamilton," spoke a smug Virginian voice beside him.

Whilst he'd been distracted in his contemplation, Thomas must've slid up next to him, quietly waiting for him to speak or take some kind of notice. Or, Thomas had stalked him to some secluded spot in order to perform a swift murder.

For a moment, the latter seemed more likely, before he realised that Thomas, though his rival and opponent in many things, was sane and civil most of the time. He wasn't a bad person and he wasn't a killer. He was just an arrogant bastard and a narcissist with horrible opinions on most matters. He quickly scrubbed away the tears on his cheek with his right sleeve and pulled his left one down.

"I didn't-" A flare of anger was ignited inside him for a moment through the mourning and sadness and he hated to think that fate might be right again. "Please just go. I don't have the strength to deal with you at the moment."

When Thomas didn't leave, Alexander turned to him, ready to project every recent emotion but all he got was an apologetic stare.

"Alexander. Please- just try to understand how this looks. You're stood at the railings of a bridge, staring down into the water and crying, after just losing a soulmate. I won't speak or say anything. Just let me stand here, alright?"

For once, Thomas seemed to be acting without self-interest. He seemed sincere and genuine. He could've just as easily walked the other way and turned away from the situation unfolding. But he didn't.

Alex swallowed his pride, "Alright. Thank you- for caring, I mean."

Hesitating, Thomas glanced up from the waters below them, "No problem."

There was silence for a long time. Awkward, and yet strangely comfortable silence, like they had something in common and something to connect them now. The first thread of a grand tapestry. The sound of running water rushing beneath them and the sight of leaves falling to the ground was serene for those long minutes. Alexander, surprisingly, was the first to speak.

"I wasn't going to jump."

"I know, Alex"

"Good."

The silence lasted a long time after that, and soon Alexander began to cry. It was dark so Jefferson shouldn't have been able to see it, and Hamilton wasn't making a noise. Somehow, Thomas knew.

A hand came to rest on his own, and Hamilton didn't have the heart to withdraw it. The gentle, kind contact, free of anything self-serving, was unexpected but welcome. Jefferson spoke first this time.

"I know how you feel, Alexander."

"How can you possibly?"

"You're not the only one who's lost the ones they love."

There was another silence, this time one of cautious gazes and curious glances.

"Show me?" Alexander asked, in a hushed tone. It wasn't something anyone ever asked anyone.

Thomas nodded absently, slipping off his coat and passing it to Hamilton. Rolling his sleeve up to his biceps, there was a list of names that rivalled even Alexander's own, each with their own cross through them. His heart ached for his enemy in that long moment and for a long minute afterwards. Tears rolled down his cheeks, less quietly now. He sobbed visibly and audibly as he looked at each name. His own sat comfortably at the side of Thomas' arm. Thomas probably hadn't checked his list in a long time.

"I'm sorry." Quite honestly, Alexander didn't quite know why he was apologising. Perhaps it was because he knew the stigma of having so many names. Perhaps it was because he knew how much it hurt, knowing you'd destroyed so many hearts and hurt so many. Perhaps it was because he feared he'd do the same to Thomas.

"Don't be."

Kindly, Thomas settled his coat over Alexander's shoulders. It was warm and snug and smelt of expensive cologne and vanilla. The faux fur brushed his cheeks and, due to Jefferson's height, it hung too low around his calves. Jeffersons soothing tone had him looking up. He grinned slightly through his tears as he made a show of wiping them away with the sleeve of Thomas' coat.

"Hamilton. From what Lafayette has said, your house is on the other side of town. It's late and my apartment is nearby. If you want, you can stay over. I have a guest room if you need it. I know it's not exactly ideal, but it's much easier than waiting for the morning out in the cold. I can make breakfast tom-"

"Thomas! For heaven's sake, stop rambling. Lead the way."

"Of course, princess."

The moment was ruined, and Alex was already beginning to regret agreeing to this arrangement.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! Kudos and comments are appreciated!!! Polite corrections and criticisms are also appreciated. I'll try to update this again as soon as I can! <3
> 
> If you like my writing, feel free to follow me on my [Tumblr](https://peridotteacup.tumblr.com/)
> 
> ~ Wren


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